


A Life of Prayer

by This Girl Is (non_sequential)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_sequential/pseuds/This%20Girl%20Is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy finds comfort in a life of prayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life of Prayer

When all else fails, one can always fall back on the traditional methods. Having let her fear get the better of her discretion and, embarrassingly publicly, suggested handing the Boy Who Lived over to Voldemort, Pansy Parkinson was pilloried (more fun than it sounds), tarred and feathered (less fun than it sounds, but with potential for adaptation) and run out of town on a rail (don’t ask). A rundown of her options revealed them to be painfully few. An advantageous marriage, and at this point _any_ marriage would be advantageous, was out of the question and Azkaban would simply be no fun at all.

Most extraneous daughters got packed off to the convents at age eleven, when the sons and more fortunate daughters went to Hogwarts. Some girls never knew what their destination was when they walked out of their house on the morning of September 1st. The point being that Pansy had ‘come to God’ rather later than most, which was proving to be an unexpected benefit.

“Shhhh,” she murmured to the young nun lying next to her on the awful cot thing that passed for a bed here. The girl’s eyes were wide with a glorious mix of passion and panic as she twisted her hips against Pansy’s hand (modestly under the nightdress, of course), apparently torn between trying to get away from her touch and trying to get more. Pansy mouthed at the girl’s breast through the thin cotton of the nightdress the girl couldn’t be persuaded out of. It tasted vile, but the gasp and the wanton arch of the girl’s back, from her hips to her head, more than made up for it.

She flicked her tongue rapidly over the hard nipple in her mouth and twisted her fingers _just so_. Above her head she could hear the girl begin to whimper, “Oh God, oh God, oh God…” Maybe a life of prayer, or at least assisting others in their prayers, wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.


End file.
